Bittersweet
by meant-for-nothing
Summary: Love is so much different than Quaxo had ever expected it to be it's not sweet and kind, it's a snake that holds him prisoner and squeezes away. The more love he gives, the less he recieves, and the farther in the fangs start to sink. QuaxoVictoria
1. The Pain and Perfection

**A/N: FINA-FREAKING-LLY! It was taking FOREVER to bring chap one to enough of a close that I could actually post it, but here it is! WHEEE.**

**Ok, so, you all know how addicted to MistoVictoria I am, but, incase it's not obvious by the title and genre, this one won't be nearly as fluffy or sugary as before.**

**I feel really bad for torturing my beloved Quaxo this way. ::tear:: I LOVE YOU QUAXOOOOOOOOOO!!**

**Also, not that I have anything against your opinion, but for those who want to think that Misto (aka Quaxo, I realize I'm shifting from one name to the other a lot in this A/N, sorry) and Victoria are siblings, um… that's pretty much like saying that Plato and Victoria are siblings, or Munkustrap and Demeter. I HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR SAYING THIS:**

**Ok, just as Plato and Victoria did a somewhat sexual dance during the show, Misto did a pretty sexual dance move to Victoria too. (note the CARESSING of the leg in the opener) I mean can you imagine:**

**Misto: OO WHOA SIS, YOU HAVE REALLY **_**HOT**_** LEGS! CARESS**

**Lol, just thought I would bring that to peeps attention. I mean, if you look at the look on his face and what he's doing it's just… not very sibling-like. o-0**

**Wow, that was a LONG author's note! I'm sorry!!!! On to the fic!**

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Chapter One 

_**The Pain and Perfection**_

We have learned in our days that love never listens; you can never choose; and the more love given, the more bittersweet the end.

Back then Quaxo had been little more than a kitten, and _she_ had been little more than a friend. Back then things were simple and flawless and perfect. He had romped happily away from his human home, anxious to reach the junkyard and play with his friends. The ground flew away under him as he ran, offering no resistance to his nimble cat paws. He was more like a bird than a tom, at that moment, rushing joyously over earth as if it were air. The faster he ran the sooner he would reach the junkyard, the sooner he would see the rest of the Jellicles.

He wasn't at all expecting what he came across.

Victoria was the same as usual; she waved her tail welcomingly at him, a laugh lighting up her face. She was the same, but so very, very different. She was radiant, she was glowing, she was… sweet Heaviside she was _beautiful_.

And then he was scared. The sudden pounding of his heart, the gasping of his breath, the slight blur of his vision—was he sick? No, he couldn't be; he'd been just fine this morning. But this, _this_ was a terrifying sensation: controlling, omnipotent, powerful.

She strode up to him, brushed his side in a friendly way. His fur tingled with the lasting illusion of her touch. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; his stomach knotted and rolled.

And scarier yet, despite the discomfort of the strange feeling… he liked it.

Things were different now, with him a full-blown tom and her a blooming queen. They were still friends, of course, but sometimes he would meet her eyes and words would escape him or he'd do something silly like trip over his own tail or walk straight into something.

He'd finally managed to pin the word "love" to the odd feeling. "Love" really was different than he'd expected it to be; what about those sugary feelings everyone talks about? All he felt was anxiety. There was a constant paranoia about him—paranoid that she would get hurt, or fall in love with another tom, and, the most confusing fear of all, the fear that she would love him back.

There were… problems too. The Rum Tum Tugger, for example, whose advice on love was lacking, to say the least. Not to mention that he practically had every queen in the tribe eating out of his paws. He'd never thought that having Tugger as a friend could present such a problem.

The prospect of love, of being in love, still scared him. Being away from her for long periods of time caused real physical pain. There were times when he'd find himself almost drowning under the weight of this tyranny called love.

Of course, Victoria hadn't shown any romantic interest in him, and the idea of confessing his love to her like some cheesy human movie made his blood run cold.

She was making it difficult too. Maybe he was interpreting things wrong, but in recent months she seemed to have added unconscious flirtatious attributes to everything she did. The casual sway of her hips, the half-smile that never left her face, the sheen of her eyes: all of them drove Quaxo mad.

And last on his list of obstacles were the toms. Victoria was the Rum Tum Tugger of queens; every male lusted after her to some degree. (He refused to believe that any of them _loved_ her as he did. All the pain he felt for her had to be for something.)

He was with her now, and that fact alone dulled the pain to something almost bearable… almost.

"_Quaxo_?" By the tone of her voice, she must have been trying to get his attention for a while now. He pricked up his ears and met her gaze to indicate he was listening. He tried to seem alert and interested, but it was a feeble attempt. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." A lie. Still, he put on his most charming smile and she relaxed slightly.

"Okay; I'm just worried; you've been a little out of it lately." She nudged him playfully.

He thanked Heaviside that there was fur on his face, if not she'd certainly have seen the flush that was staining his cheeks. He should have been paying more attention. There was no reason to waste a perfectly good afternoon with the cat that constantly roved his thoughts.

He shifted to a more comfortable position and stared at her with a genuine smile. "So what do you want to do?"

Her mouth opened and she let out a mewling whine. "I'm hungry. Wanna go hunting?"

He sprang to his paws, energy finally pulsing through him again. His tail swished challengingly behind him. "Race you to the trees," he said, voice nothing more than an excited whisper.

And they were off, bounding and zooming ahead like they had long before confusing complications had ever reared their unwelcome faces. She was go graceful as she ran, a white, winding ribbon flitting right and left, up and down, twisting around his paws and tickling his nose: teasing him, playing with him, taunting him.

He forced away every emotion but joy—kept back every sensation but adrenaline. The result was an awkward, bubbling high and he let out a laugh that sounded strange to his ears. Victoria's ears twitched at the sound and she turned to stare at him momentarily before the joy of the moment caught her up again, and she was focused back on running.

Had it not been for his odd mental barriers he would have felt a rush of shame or embarrassment for his sound, but as it was he continued merrily on, darting and weaving with expert precision around piles of trash and broken household items.

For all his lithe agility, it was nothing compared to Victoria's faultless movements. She glided as if on water, every leap and bound as fluid as the undulating waves of the ocean. Again the ribbon twined around him, it twirled into his open mouth and lingered on his tongue. He could taste it almost, almost, _almost_. And though Victoria herself was still a few feet away, and pulling farther ahead by the second, ribbons of her scent, of her sound, of her touch all danced around him. He felt dizzy. The emotions he'd trapped in his head pounded against their restraints. It hurt.

He paused—stumbled. His paws felt like lead. The ribbons smothered him, winding around his throat and biting viciously into his skin; they were no longer ribbons, but ivory snakes. He gurgled and choked. She was so far away that she didn't even hear, but the ringing echo of her laugh floating faintly toward him, sounding distant as he drifted on the edge of consciousness.

He gasped in clean air, doing his best to expel all remaining slivers of her scent. This was bad. It had never gotten this strong. In the back of his thoughts he noticed the sound of her laughter end abruptly, heard her call out to him and the sound of her paw steps getting louder as she neared. He braced himself for the ribbons—the snakes—to wind their way toward him again, but now it was only Victoria, and the heavenly aroma of her presence. He reveled in it—drank it in as if it were wine.

This was perfect; she was perfect; even he was perfect for this moment where he stood beside her.

It made him wonder if someday things would become so perfect that they would no longer bring with them pain.

He could only hope.


	2. Off of the Chest, Onto the Heart

**A/N: SQUEE. This chappie opened up a whole idea for a sister fic to this one; an explanation as to why Pouncival knows better than any cat about the whole pity thing. Oooh, I should get to work on that one… so many fics, so little time…**

**As usual with me, this chapter got posted a lot sooner than planned, but I guess no one minds. I'll probably be slower with the next chapter; I have a lot to do with the winter holidays so close. It's CRAZY. So yeah, if you don't see me for a while, it's 'cause I'm going out of my mind drawing and writing up presents for people.**

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_**Chapter Two**_

_**Off of the Chest, Onto the Heart**_

We know in our lives, that pity can never replace true caring and that those who try break every heart they touch.

"Quaxo?" she sounded so scared; it hurt his heart to hear it, "Quaxo are you ok? Did you step on something? Did you trip?" She was carefully examining his paw pads, his eyes, his ears, every inch of him that could possibly have made him fall over. He tried at a nonchalant laugh, and it came out far more convincing than he had expected. He was getting good at this.

He'd never had a chance to answer, as number one on his list of rivals had just come sauntering up.

He knew he was imagining the sneer in his smile, he _knew_ Plato was a kindhearted tom.

But what he "knew" meant nothing when the primitive instinct to kill kicked in.

Sweet Heaviside, he needed to get away from them before he did anything drastic.

He politely excused himself from their presence, wincing when he heard their warm greeting. He knew they would be nuzzling, but he couldn't bear to turn around and watch. Just because nuzzling didn't have to mean anything romantic didn't mean it wasn't taken that way, and he was afraid to see the blissful look that would be on her face when her and Plato's pelts touched.

It was hours later that Pouncival found him, and in a terribly pathetic state, too. He was curled up on the hood of the TSE 1, head on his paws, tail swinging in lonely misery. Pouncival crept toward the other tom warily, watching as Quaxo's eyes followed him with little interest. When he was sure he wouldn't be berated for it, he leapt onto the hood next to Quaxo in one fluid motion.

The tip of his tail twitched rhythmically as he stared down at the dejected tuxedo cat. He waited—impatiently—for Quaxo to say something or at least move, but nothing happened. The other tom didn't even look his way, only stared blankly ahead with sorrow radiating off of him in waves.

"Oh, come _on_!" Pouncival whined in aggravation after several minutes of silence. He lay down with an irritated grunt next to Quaxo, shooting him pointedly frustrated glances. "I've been here for like, and hour and you still haven't said anything! _What is it?_"

Quaxo turned to look at the patched tabby with eyes so full of pain that they took Pouncival by surprise. "W-whoa," he stuttered, "Sorry… uh… you don't have to talk about it…" His ears fell back in embarrassment. "Erm, sorry." He started to stand, but Quaxo shook his head.

"I want to talk about it, but it doesn't make sense, even to me," Quaxo mewed forlornly.

"Try me; I'm sharper than you think." Pouncival risked a half-smile.

With a sigh of reluctance Quaxo let everything that had been troubling him spill out. It was an almost peaceful half hour, where he was finally able to release the flood that had been building inside him for so long. Pouncival sat and listened, remaining expressionless. Occasionally his whiskers would twitch or his eye would take on a slightly sympathetic glaze, but Pouncival knew better than any cat that pity wasn't what he wanted. When he finished his long and baffling explanation Pouncival frowned, his face contorting into a look of deep thought and concentration.

"Well…" he began. Quaxo waited. "You lost me." He laughed in a gentle way. Quaxo tried to hide his bitter disappointment. When Pouncival saw the look in his friend's eyes he touched his tail comfortingly to the other tom's shoulder. "I'm sorry that I don't understand exactly what you're going through, but I know well enough. You can always talk to me; I'll listen, you know?"

Quaxo managed a sad smile. "Thanks."

* * *

Pouncival was worried about his friend. Quaxo had fallen deeper and deeper into a clearly serious depression. Victoria had noticed too, and was almost constantly with him now, but that only seemed to make things worse. The longer she sat with him the more tormented he became. Pouncival almost wanted to go tell Victoria that Quaxo was in love with her, that his depression was on her account.

But he knew that was wrong. Not only would it be cruel to Victoria, but she and Quaxo were such close friends, she was sure to want to become his mate only to save him.

A relationship based on pity. Painful memories flooded back to him and she shoved them away angrily. "Damn it, Quaxo, look what you've gone and done. Just tell her already so I can leave the stupid past behind me," he hissed to himself, not even realizing he'd spoken aloud.

Electra had been lounging nearby, and had heard him. Without even knowing what he was talking about, she felt pity toward him. How was she to know that to Pouncival pity was was a cat's greatest sin?

* * *

Victoria sat by Quaxo's side, both of them tucked neatly into the pipe he called home. She was close, her smell wafting around him—a tantalizing reminder of what he could never have, what he would never have the strength or the will to take for himself. Not to mention that now she was making his home smell like her, so that would be several weeks of lasting, prodding reminders.

"I'm really worried about you." She'd been quiet for so long that her sudden speech startled him. He glanced up, too tired to even fake a smile anymore.

"Why?" He sounded indifferent; he was far from it.

She went on as if she hadn't heard him, unable to meet his eyes. "I can't help but think this is my fault."

"It's not." It is. It _is_. "It would be easier if you weren't so completely loveable, though." The startled expression on her face made him gasp. He hadn't really spoken aloud, had he? He couldn't have.

"I…" she blinked rapidly, unsure of what to say.

So he had.

He groaned and buried his head in his paws. He felt a ripple in his skin and braced himself. Things like these—strong emotions that he couldn't keep in check—almost always brought a change to him. His fur prickled, random patches of it rising and standing on end, mainly the white parts. He could feel his body elongate and become leaner—if that was possible; he wasn't a stout cat by any means. Though he wasn't really aware of the change, he knew the white patches of his fur were going dark except for on his face and chest.

Victoria had seen this happen once before and didn't comment, though she probably wouldn't have even if she'd never seen him change seeing as she was still left speechless by the implications of his words. Cats are blessed—or cursed—with the uncanny ability to sense emotion and she knew that it was not a friendship sort of love.

He didn't know what to make of her silence. At first he'd allowed himself to hope that she was shocked because she felt the same, but the longer she remained speechless the more and more that hope died.

The transformation was completed finally by a shift in personality. Though he and Mistoffelees were, in essence, the same cat and shared the same consciousness, there were minor differences in their behavior. They were both quiet cats, but Mistoffelees had a tendency to make a show of himself, where Quaxo was content with remaining fairly unnoticed. Mistoffelees had t he confidence—or dogmatism—to face any problem head-on without consideration or second guesses. Quaxo was far more reserved: thinking everything over and often not following through with whatever risky idea he'd managed to come up with.

But for all Mistoffelees' extra confidence, he was still Quaxo; he could still feel the turmoil that boiled inside his counterpart's—his own—thoughts. It was this fact alone that stopped him from staying where he was and caused him to disappear in a flurry of sound and light.

**

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A/N: hm… well… I don't like this one quite as much as the last one, but probably because I really, really liked the ribbon metaphor and I didn't really get much of a chance to use it this time.**

**My idea of Misto and Quaxo's relationship is a little confusing, so for any who are confused, here's how things are in this fic (Note: This is NOT how it is in my other fic, Captivated. In Captivated I was trying to make it simple and not do this, but I decided you could handle it in this one so there):**

**Mistoffelees and Quaxo are the SAME CAT. They share one conscious mind and one set of thoughts. They share the same opinions, the same feelings, everything. Only two things shift when Quaxo becomes Mistoffelees or vice versa- A) His appearance (obviously) and B) there is a SLIGHT shift in personality. Not so much, to restate, that he would be a different cat, just some confidence boosts and such brought on by having such limitless magical power flowing through you. Gotta love it.**

**Okie doke, so REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!!**


	3. What's Up?

**A/N: Ookay, so I don't currently have a computer. My wonderful, wonderful, brilliantly kind and majestic, beautifully, amazing bestest best friend in the entire world is typing this up for me via phone (HIII EVERYONE!!). Isn't he amazing??**

**I was heartbroken when I found out my stories were no longer in the top ten because of lack of updates, so I decided to post a new chap! So yeah, these chaps will be short and rare. I don't want to abuse the nice thing he is doing for me (I should say so. XD). If there are any typos or anything, or missing commas or whatever, don't worry about it. They are there because it's being done sentence by sentence over the phone (Hey, I think I can handle it! .), and that's not easy man. **

_**Chapter Three**_

_**What's up?!**_

Those ribbons—those damn ribbons—still batted playfully at his nose. He wrinkled it in irritation, wondering why even in the clean air he still smelled her. No the answer was obvious; it was because of what he had said to her. It was because she knew how he felt and now he would never be able to look her in the eye again.

He frowned, tail tip twitching in personal frustration. Stupid of him. Really stupid of him. How could he have been so absent-minded as to let that _slip_? Of all the things to slip off his tongue, why the most absolutely humiliating and complicating thing possible? As if by magic the depression had lifted from him. He was furious with himself, but he wasn't upset anymore. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. Many of the anxieties he had suffered for years were gone, though he still couldn't say if the feelings classically attributed to love were present in him or not—he was too angry for that.

"Quaxo?" His head spun around to face the voice. "Oh, Mistoffelees. Um, what's going on?" It was Pouncival, prowling around the corner with his usual expert timing.

Mistoffelees let his ears fall back in embarrassment. "Erm…nothing, nothing." He flexed his claws nervously.

Pouncival grinned mischievously. "Uh huh, riiiiight."

The tuxedo cat sighed and turned away, his own frustration billowing off him in waves. "Look, I don't really feel like right now, Pounce."

Pouncival was unfazed. "Oh please, we both know that if I sit here long enough you'll tell me. Come oooooon."

Mistoffelees twisted around, sending threatening eye messages to the other tom. Pouncival recoiled instinctively, then burst out into a roaring barrage of laughter. "Nice," he snickered, "Now tell me."

"No."

"Teeeeell meeeee."

"_No_!"

He prodded the magical cat with his paw. "Please?"

Mistoffelees growled and sent a bolt of blue lightning dangerously close to Pouncival's head. Pouncival jumped, his fur standing on end. He flattened out his hackles before saying, "Sheesh, calm down."

"It doesn't even matter."

Pouncival frowned, becoming suddenly serious. "No, obviously it does matter."

Mistoffelees sighed exasperatedly, tucking his paws under him. "I wish it did."

**A/N: (:huggles fingers: That was insaaaane XD But I'm glad to be of service :bow: ) Sorry guys that it wasn't as good as I'd hoped, but this stuff's tricky, ya know? (I hear ya, sister…) I had to write it really, really fast and it wasn't very long. So again, sorry. (Hey, I think she's bein' a little hard on herself :/ ) Update again…sometime**


	4. Ribbons

**A/N: Alrighty then, everybodies. The chap you've all be waiting for! ( n-n Hey everyone! It's teh 'cool' friend from before. This chappie is brought to you by...ME! Yaaay!)**

**See, I have email and IM now, but no "internet" so my wonderful, lovely, amazing, splentiferific, spifftasticalfulish friend from the previous chapter, will still be helping, but his job has just been made a whole hell of a lot easier. I email him the chaps, with everything, including author's note, written up all nice and neat, and his only job is to upload it. Great, right?**

**This means chaps can be a lot longer. (that shortshortshort chap from last time right? Took TWO HOURS to get up here from the time we started. Imagine that with this, oh, 1480 word chap. X-X hellish.) So yeah, this is much much better.****  
****... I say "so yeah" WAY too much ::sigh::**

**SO HERE IT IS. THE MAGICAL, THE MARVELOUS, CHAPTER FOUR!!!!**** ( heheh, isn't she witty??) **

**_Chapter Four_**_**  
**_**_Ribbons_**_**  
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Quaxo's sorrowful tone startled Pouncival. He scuffed his paws in embarrassment. "Erm, sorry. You don't need to tell me. Uh, I'll just… go." It was awkward, talking to Quaxo when he was like this. Quaxo was always happy—quiet sometimes, but happy. There was always a kind of sparkle around him—probably due to Quaxo's magical powers—but that twinkle was gone now. His eyes looked dead compared to their old gleam. His tail hung low. His clean pelt lost his healthy sheen. It was obvious how far the mystical cat had fallen. He'd been getting worse and worse the deeper he sank into depression, but Pouncival had never seen him like this. Even the tuxedo cat's whiskers hung low. "Sorry, man. I really am." He said before turning to leave.

"Yeah…" was all the black and quite cat could say. Pouncival glanced back at him as he left, but he knew that it wasn't him that Quaxo needed right now, but it wasn't Victoria either. Not the Victoria of now, anyway. Not the Victoria that knew his secret. No, it was the Victoria of the past, the carefree friend that Quaxo believed he'd lost. Pouncival wanted to prove to Quaxo that he hadn't lost that friend, that Victoria would still be there for him, but he was afraid of interfering, afraid of Quaxo having to experience the hellish reality of a relationship based solely on pity, which he knew Victoria would create. Quaxo was her closest friend, she would want to help him to feel better in any way she could.

So he merely stalked away, finding a nice warm spot to curl up and brood. He was worried and conflicted, but he knew in his heart that there was nothing he could do, and that knowledge was the only thing that kept him rooted in one spot, that kept him from rushing out to find Victoria.

So he waited.

* * *

Ribbons. 

White ribbons.

Snake-like, swarming, shimmering, brilliant white ribbons.

They were all around him, pulling at him, tugging at him, teasing and tantalizing him, stroking him, soothing him, then yanking away and leaving him to cry out in agony without the warmth of their touch. At first he thought them only a vision, one of the many he'd had since sinking away into his depression. It was only after a moment of thought that he realized it was not the false smell of his imagination, realized that it was not the pathetic imitation of her scent that his mind tried hopelessly to recreate, but the floral and delicious smell of her in the flesh.

He didn't raise his head to look, only buried it deeper in his paws, doing his best to hide from reality, to hide from the ribbons that wove around him still.

But she was close now, so close. So close that it burned to breathe and hurt to think; so close that his bones felt brittle and his muscles refused to move; so close that even in pain and paralysis he could think of nothing but how much he loved to be near her, how he never wanted to leave her side.

"Quaxo?"

And ah, that voice! That heavenly, seraphim voice! He drank it in like wine, savoring each syllable of speech, saying nothing in return. His voice would ruin the beauty of hers. His own gruff tones were nothing compared to hers. His whiskers twitched, a low purr resonating from deep within his throat.

"Quaxo, please…"

She sounded so desperate. It made his heart ache. No, no, angel, don't be sad! Don't be sad for me: a lowly being unworthy of you. Smile, sweet angel! Smile and laugh! Oh please, let me hear your laugh!

"Quaxo, in Heaviside's name, look at me!"

How could he refuse such a voice, such a plaintive command? How could he hurt her by disobeying? He raised his head until his eyes met hers. He couldn't remember what had happened in his den anymore. It had faded from his mind. He saw only her, felt only white ribbons that danced around him still, knew only thoughts of her. There was nothing else.

She looked concerned. She didn't understand his expression: one filled with so much love and admiration and longing that it bordered on madness.

"About what you said earlier…"

He couldn't help it, though he hated to break her musical speech with his own, he had to reply, he hated to see her this way. "Did I say something earlier?" His brow furrowed in failed concentration. As much as he tried to remember back to before, the ribbons kept batting him back, pulling him away from memory. "I don't remember…"

"Quaxo…" Her angelic voice cracked, breaking into a small sob. No! No, no, no! Don't cry for me, angel! I beg you not to cry! He touched his tail to her flank gently, trying to comfort the angel, the vision, the wonderful, wonderful, bittersweet dream. Why did such a radiant and magnificent creature have to appear to him with such sorrow? Why could he not hear the pealing ring of her beautiful laugh? With each sob that wracked her body a sharp stab of pain lanced his heart. He couldn't bear to see her this way—his angel, his goddess!

"Don't look at me like that!" She sobbed, pulling away from his touch. His heart nearly shattered. Why did she reject him? Oh angel, don't do this! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Forgive me my faults; I'm sorry, so sorry!

"I don't understand," he whispered under his breath, afraid to again intrude on her music, however sad it might be.

"I wish I'd known," she said, seeming not to have heard him, "If I'd known… I… I could have… I don't know! It would be different! Why now, Quaxo?"

"What did I do? How did I hurt you?" I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Forgive me, sweet angel!

Her eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped open. "What do you mean? You didn't hurt… Quaxo!" she cried, voice thick with crying, "What… what are you… I don't understand… are you trying to… I… oh, Quaxo… I'm sorry."

Why was she apologizing? This was all wrong! This was backwards, confused! This couldn't be right! Was it he who had been hurting the whole time?

And then it came back, all of it came back. It came back as suddenly as it had left. He remembered, and the mesmerizing ribbons were gone, fluttering away into nothing once more. He stared at her, remembering his own slip of words, the words he hated himself for ever letting out. He'd complicated things beyond imagining, and now… what was left to do?

"Victoria…" He remembered her name now—knew who she was, though she was still an angel. She had been an angel for so long he could hardly remember the time when she'd been nothing more than a playmate, a friend.

But he'd always been just another friend to her, right?

_Why had he told her?_

"Never mind. I'm sorry. Forget it ever happened…" there was a pause, where he fought to keep back the tears that prickled in the back of his eyes, fought to be sure that his voice was still level the next time he spoke. Still, he couldn't suppress the slight tremor in the word: "Please…"

She bridged the gap between them in two elegant steps. She nuzzled him in a way that he assumed was supposed to be passion, but he sensed her lie. It radiated into the air around her, stung at him with every hair of her pelt that brushed his. If she had ever wanted to absolutely hurt him, this was how to do it.

Quaxo leapt backwards with a hiss. "Keep your pity!" He snarled, stung and wounded and confused.

She looked torn—so lost and helpless. "I just want to help…"

"Help?" He shrieked, "You call this helping? Trying to lie to me this way?" His chest burned with agonizing pain. The false affection was a worse betrayal than any he could have imagined. The pain was immense, and a blossom that resembled something like hatred had planted its seed. "You're not the cat I thought you were," spat Quaxo. He shook his head with distain, and trailed away, his tail dragging the ground.

Victoria let out a plaintive wail, begging him to come back, but he didn't turn around, didn't dare look back at her. One solitary, slender ribbon came toward him, pathetically thin and frayed compared to the rest. It brushed sadly against his nose. He blew it away with a cleansing breath, dispelling all the lasting bits of her scents from his thoughts.

And yet, the hate and the distain that he harbored toward her didn't change the fact that he loved her absolutely. And he doubted that was about to change.


End file.
